


The Games Are Rigged

by Terathyle



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Grumpy Old Men, Low Chaos (Dishonored), M/M, Slow Burn, daud is a cop
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-14
Updated: 2016-08-14
Packaged: 2018-08-08 18:49:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7769071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Terathyle/pseuds/Terathyle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The stack of papers seemed more like a death sentence, all lists of political complaints, from something about a bird to more serious ones like one of the Lady Boyles going missing. </p><p>Daud couldn’t have cared less, at least one of the Boyles go missing every week before coming back a week later.</p><p>.-.</p><p>Daud is an old cop and Corvo is the young delinquent vandalizing parts of Dunwall who likes the Outsider a little bit too much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Games Are Rigged

**Author's Note:**

> hello yes i am here to dump my shitty aus on anyone willing to read my bad writing. based on an amazing drawing i saw of a neon corvo

Daud sipped the coffee, before grimacing and setting it down. Thomas had gotten the cup for him after he had been promoted, a shitty white cup with, what he thinks is a crack in it already.

It had said WORLD’S BEST DAD in colourful, bubble letters. Then there was a sloppy U in between the A and D, drawn in black sharpie.

It was nice, nice enough that he filled it with too creamy, too sugary coffee that Rinaldo enjoyed too much. He was going to give himself diabetes, with the amount of sugar and creamer he poured in the bean juice. 

Against his wishes, Daud took another sip of his coffee. He made a face again, setting it down on the desk in the same spot. If Thomas saw him he’d have a heart attack; putting a steaming cup of coffee on beautifully carved wood.

The stack of papers seemed more like a death sentence, all lists of political complaints, from something about a bird to more serious ones like one of the Lady Boyles going missing. 

Daud couldn’t have cared less, at least one of the Boyles go missing every week before coming back a week later.

He squinted at the next paper. 

He ran a hand through his thinning hairline, before his right thumb pressed at the base of the scar on his eye. He could still feel the bite of metal, the way his gun wasn’t fast enough for illegal worship of some shit old god that probably never existed.

Daud still remembers the mask, the thick wires and the way the person cocked their head to the side when he demanded they stop vandalizing the goddamn brick wall. He sounded old even to his ears.

They lit up, the glass in the eye without a brow twisted and whirred, before the wires sparked to life and in a flash of brilliant blue and purple he was on his back and bleeding from his eye while the masked person got away.

Yea, Daud never forgets something like this.

It was a rough sketch of his mask, (the wires, the click of the jaw when he shifted around slowly, the soft hiss of breath that became distorted) and it didn’t do justice to such a pretty but fucked up mask.

The door swings open and his men walk in. 

Thomas, clean and crisp in his uniform, hands folded neatly behind him. He looks good in uniform.

Then Yuri and Aedan follow, both more relaxed compared to his second in command. 

“Sir, we’ve reports of this masked felon type character.” Aedan tosses out another full stack of paper on his desk, making a soft thump when all of them hit it. Daud feels himself ageing everytime more papers are thrown on his shit.

Daud curses and rolls up his sleeves. He looks at the ashtray and wishes he had gone out to go buy more when he went to his apartment two days ago.

Yuri tosses out a cigarette, some expensive brand that only Yuri likes. Daud makes a noise but flicks open his lighter. 

“Thanks.” he takes a long drag of the cancer stick, “Where have the reports been located?”

“Distillery District,” Thomas says, and fishes in his coat pocket to place an envelope on his desk. Filled with pictures of a gruesome mask, the mark of the Outsider is drawn haphazardly on the paint that is splattered on brick walls right between the brows.

Daud frowned. 

“Charming.” 

“There’s more, sir.” Thomas quipped, finger dragging to the next set of pictures. “Again at the Distillery District, at morn this time, but..” he trails off as Daud trails to the next set.

The local whorehouse, most known for the probably abused and underpaid women and the Pendleton twins. Daud himself never had and wanted the pleasure of going to The Golden Cat. He’d like to uphold that reputation.

“Anything else?” he gruffly adds, breathing smoke out of the side of his mouth to not annoy his men.

Disappointment flashes on their faces before all of them straighten.

“No sir.” Thomas responds.

“Thank you, Thomas.” 

They all leave him and the cigarette and Daud can’t help but feel like something feels off.


End file.
